


Heaven on Earth

by LawrVert



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Watches Aziraphale Eat (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Light Angst, Love of food, M/M, Sensual Apple Eating, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22465477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrVert/pseuds/LawrVert
Summary: After the world doesn't end, Crowley decides to take Aziraphale on a trip in search of the finest cuisine.  As they journey to places they've never been and some that bring up old-remembered pain, Crowley feels himself growing closer to Aziraphale than ever before.  Art by Blithefool and eyesofsatin.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 133
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	Heaven on Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the wonderful Blithefool and eyesofsatin for creating lovely art for this fic! Art by eyesofsatin will be posted at a later date. Thank you so much to three people who helped shape this fic by serving as a beta, offering advice and suggestions, and cheerleading--Eriathalia, @fidelesir, and Lurlur! 
> 
> Thank you so much to Dee for her wonderful beta reading that saved this fic! If you read it before, many of the problems with it have now been resolved thanks to Dee! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading it, and I hope you enjoy it! I welcome interaction through comments and tumblr ineffablelawr.tumblr.com

Their hands brushed for just a moment as they both reached for the check at the Ritz, the softness of Aziraphale’s warm fingers sending a tingling sensation through Crowley. The angel retracted his hand at Crowley's quiet insistence.

"Let me, angel." Crowley smiled, unable to take his eyes off the angel. 

"Well, alright. If you insist." Dabbing at his lips with a napkin, the angel closed his eyes and sighed. "That was absolutely divine." 

"You're divine… I mean, let's go feed the ducks." Crowley quickly got up, attempting to cover his rather awkward cock-up. 

A faint pink bloomed in Aziraphale's cheeks. "The ducks. Right." 

Crowley held the door for Aziraphale, then they walked side by side until they got to the Bentley. Just as he rounded the car, a soft breeze picked up, tousling the angel’s curls in an unflattering way. _Not that Aziraphale ever looks bad. He’s always been beautiful._

Crowley was transported back to a dark corner of the Ark as the comforting scent of lavender, dust, and old parchment washed over him. Crowley would never understand how the angel managed to smell and look so clean surrounded by the musky scents of the animals and later the primal odors of sweat, sickness, and death. 

When they left the Bentley, Aziraphale no longer sat on the opposite side of the bench. There wasn’t any need to hide anymore, and when their thighs touched, the warmth seeping into Crowley’s body filled him with a sort of breathless elation. Crowley had never known the comfort of having a home, but sitting so close to the angel in the newly reborn world, he felt safe and more content than he ever had before. If he was entirely honest, a part of him was also terrified that he might do something to muck it up horribly and drive Aziraphale away. 

“Ah, do you have it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Have what? Oh, yeah! The bread. Here, in my pocket.” Patting the lump in his jacket pocket, Crowley pulled out hunks of bread wrapped in a napkin and handed it to Aziraphale, using a small miracle to double the meagre pieces. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled at him again, and for a moment Crowley forgot to throw his bread. 

_Don’t you know by now I’d do anything to make you happy?_ he thought, glancing at the other forlornly. Then a half-formed thought insinuated itself alongside the attention he was giving Aziraphale's hand, the one that was cupping the bread. The more he thought about this vague idea, the bigger and more concrete it grew. It was the kind that would necessitate time and research.

Crowley’s gaze lingered on Aziraphale’s hand as acting on instinct, he reached for a hunk of bread at the same time as Aziraphale. Their hands brushed for just a moment before Crowley retracted his hand as if he had touched a live wire rather than soft, angelic flesh. 

He lost all power of speech for a moment, making a series of noises unrecognizable as words, before hissing quietly, “Sssorry… I… Ergh…” _Second time that’s happened in the last hour._ Although a heartbeat wasn’t strictly necessary, Crowley’s heart pounded against his ribs as insistent as a small dog scratching at a door. 

“Quite alright, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied, offering him a kind, yet flustered smile. 

“Well, it’s been a lovely evening, but I have some things… to… attend to,” Crowley struggled as he started backing away from the spot where Aziraphale sat. When Aziraphale frowned, Crowley knew that his response had gone down like a lead balloon. 

Fidgeting, Aziraphale replied, “Things? But you said you were free today. Which was why we went to dinner so late. Is there something the matter, my dear?” He continued, eyes scrutinizing him, “You haven’t even finished feeding the ducks.”

In a moment of panic, Crowley chucked the rest of his bread at the ducks. “There we are. Enjoy!” 

“Crowley! You could have killed the poor things!” 

“They’re fine, angel. No harm done. I’ve really got to go.” 

“Crowley? Are you quite alright?” 

“Everything’s fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, angel.” He attempted to saunter in his usual manner, but ended up almost running back to the Bentley.

Crowley was particularly hard on his houseplants that night as he paced around his flat or watched late night virtual roulette, one of his more irritating inventions. After tossing and turning for several hours and shifting between his snake and human form, he gave up on sleep. Picking up his plant mister, he stalked over to the plants like a cat eyeing a particularly frustrating mouse. 

"Look at you all. You could be greener. You're barely even trying. The truth is you're not good enough. You'll never be good enough!" He examined the leaves rather half-heartedly. "Some spots can't be hidden. Once you're damaged that's it— no going back. Don't think I won't drop the whole bloody lot of you off the balcony." 

After a long moment, he slunk into his chair, draping his long legs over the side. "Let's go feed the ducks. What the fuck was that? Let’s go feed the ducks." _If I can’t tell him how much he means to me, maybe I can at least show him._

Turning on his computer, which was doing an excellent job of occupying space on his office desk, he began researching all the things he knew his angel enjoyed. Finally, he clicked on a link and his eyes widened. He knew he’d found the perfect gift for his angel. _I’d give you anything. I can’t give you the world, but maybe we can see the best of it together._

He surprised Aziraphale in the early morning hours at the bookshop, sending the handful of customers away with the suggestion that they had forgotten something very important and should return home immediately.

“Angel!” he called out on the way to the back room of the bookshop, but Aziraphale stepped out from between the stacks, startling Crowley so much that he almost assumed his serpent form where he stood. 

Chuckling, Aziraphale removed his wire-rimmed glasses to clean them, even if he could miracle them clean. Fussy angel. Stubbornly doing things the human way. But Crowley had never shied away from splurging. Not when his angel was the reason for it. 

“Good morning, my dear. What brings you here today?” Then, leaning forward as if the shelves around the bookshop might hide ears, he whispered, “have you heard anything from your side?” 

But then he looked behind Crowley and noticed that there was nobody in the shop but them. After removing his glasses, Aziraphale glanced at Crowley and raised an eyebrow. 

Crowley fluttered a hand, acting like the epitome of nonchalance. Like this was a daily occurrence. Like he didn’t need to have a private chat with the angel. “Got rid of them. They intended to buy some of your books,” Crowley said, utterly proud of himself. “And no. Nothing.”

Aziraphale seemed a touch nervous, wringing his hands. “By get rid of, you don’t mean—” 

Crowley took a few steps back as if Aziraphale intended to throw some holy water on him. “Of course not! I just sent them back to their houses to check their stoves, feed their cats— all the things humans worry about forgetting to do.” 

“Ah! Perfect! I’ll just flip the sign then, shall I?” Aziraphale smiled and hummed as he crossed to turn the sign and lock the front door. They settled into their familiar places in the backroom, each nursing a glass of brandy. 

Crowley swirled the remaining amber liquid. “I think maybe we should enjoy this reprieve, however long it lasts, and start living in the moment.” Crowley reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folio. "I was saving this for later, but I think we deserve a vacation after six thousand years. What would you say to a culinary adventure? I'll take you all over the world, to all the best restaurants, wherever you want to go." 

"Oh,” Aziraphale exhaled, “Really? It does sound wonderful." Aziraphale's delighted expression nearly shattered the demon. "How soon would we be leaving?" 

Crowley pressed a finger to his temple, brow furrowed in concentration. "Why not tonight?”

  
  
  


Crowley had simply miracled his clothing into a plain black case while Aziraphale had turned out half of his closet, though Crowley couldn't understand how he had so many clothes when he only wore one set. He chuckled anyway, finding the fretting endearing. "Relax, angel. You know you look great in anything." 

They loaded the luggage into the Bentley and began the drive, taking the channel tunnel to Calais then traveling south to Paris. Halfway through the drive, Aziraphale fell asleep, head falling onto Crowley's shoulder. Crowley couldn't resist the urge to run a hand through the angel's soft hair, tousled into fluffy cumulus clouds. Apparently, longer drives had somewhat of a lulling effect on him. With a contented sigh, Crowley stole one last gaze at Aziraphale, then turned his attention back to the road for the next few hours. 

"Angel, wake up. We're in Paris," Crowley whispered gently, squeezing his shoulder to avoid startling him. 

"Oh dear, did I fall asleep?" He looked back at Crowley’s shoulder and when Crowley followed his line of sight, he noticed a dark patch where presumably Aziraphale drooled on him. On his custom-made jacket. Why did he find it so adorable?

"You did. I have evidence." He pointed towards the drool patch. For the first time, Aziraphale miracled the stain away. Crowley stared at the angel, his skin still tingling with the remnants of angelic intervention. Was he still breathing? Most probably not. And the angel was fretting again, looking positively out of place.

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear. That was unbecoming of me."

"Did you just use a miracle for a frivolity?"

"Hardly a frivolity. More...” he looked around the dashboard, then outside, then back to Crowley, “compensation for driving us here. Wouldn't do to be rude to the driver."

Crowley had trouble keeping the chuckles in. "Of course, angel."

"Oh, I do hope this trip to Paris goes better than the last one," Aziraphale whispered, wiggling nervously in the seat.

"Just don't get yourself arrested this time," Crowley teased fondly. 

"Well, you’re at my side now. Maybe you can keep me out of trouble."

"Full time job," Crowley replied. "Ready for lunch?" 

Crowley took him to one of the finest bistros in the city, tasting a little of his savory crepes more to be polite than anything else. He was mostly indifferent to foods, but he wasn't particularly fond of sweets. Even though he tried not to pay too much attention to the angel, it was a failing personal challenge when Aziraphale's lips pursed and parted in the most sinful of ways. Not to mention how his eyelids fluttered closed whenever he was devouring another exquisite pastry as if nothing would ever compare to it.

"Divine, utterly divine," the angel sighed with a huge grin. 

Crowley's hands tightened painfully on his thighs as he reminded himself that Aziraphale would most likely never want more than their current friendship. He had resigned himself long ago, deciding that he would be happy as long as he could stay at the angel's side. After the crepes, they toured all the typical tourist sites, the Louvre, the Sorbonne, the Eiffel tower. Thanks to Aziraphale, none of the places they visited were crowded despite them arriving during peak season. On top of the Eiffel tower, Aziraphale complained of the cold and Crowley wasted no time slipping the angel into his own coat, fingers lingering right between his shoulder blades. Aziraphale shivered as if feeling how close Crowley’s hand was to his hidden wings.

Standing in front of the Mona Lisa a few hours later, Aziraphale remarked, "Isn't she spectacular? Nothing like actually standing in front of her." 

Crowley loved watching Aziraphale's eyes light up with joy, so for a long time he said nothing as he watched the way the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled, to avoid ruining the moment. 

"Oh, I don't know. I rather thought the original sketch was better." 

He saw Aziraphale's head whip around to stare at him searchingly. "Are you implying that the one on your wall is an original?" 

Crowley nodded and smirked. 

The angel's jaw dropped. "Good lord! I thought it was a novelty print."

Crowley shrugged and replied, "a gift from da Vinci himself. I quite liked him." He shrugged again and watched Aziraphale studying the canvas as if looking for hidden clues. 

But a moment later, Aziraphale's expression darkened. "Did you tempt him?" 

"No. Not everything is business. What I did was _inspire_ him. He was my friend." Crowley felt slightly wounded as he often was when Aziraphale suspected him of having an ulterior motive in any of his deeds.

"Your friend? I'm sorry. Forgive me." 

"Only a fool would ask forgiveness from a demon," Crowley replied, walking rather than sauntering onward to the sculpture gallery. 

“I was asking forgiveness from my friend.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks right before stepping into the next gallery, tongue suddenly impaired and unable to curl around words.

"I love the Hellenistic sculptures," Aziraphale said as he circled _The Winged Victory at Samothrace_. "Just look at the way the folds in the robes fall ever so gracefully, the texture of the feathers. Not many people can do justice to wings. Truly an impressive work of art." 

Crowley, more interested in imagining Aziraphale's Rubenesque body as a marble statue, muttered under his breath, "You're a work of art." 

"Yes, ah, well… perhaps Flemish next?" _It’s not like him to struggle with words. And is his voice actually shaking?_

Crowley grinned and snapped his fingers when the angel's back was turned. Thanks to a demonic miracle, at least for a few hours, there was a new and different face seen throughout the museum in portraits by Rubens, Rembrandt, Monet, and Seurat, a pleasantly round angelic one. 

As the two men passed the _Venus de Milo_ where a very confused tourist glanced between a museum guide and the sculpture, Aziraphale froze in place. “Crowley!” 

“What, angel? I think it’s quite an improvement.” Crowley’s roguish grin seemed to infuriate the angel. 

“You put them back right now. All of them. These are priceless works of art.” Aziraphale’s glare left Crowley crestfallen. 

“Fine.” Crowley sighed in defeat, masking the jitters under his skin. A part of him had hoped that Aziraphale would have been pleased, even flattered. Waiting until there were no tourists nearby and the angel was otherwise occupied, he snapped his fingers and watched as the statues and paintings returned to normal. 

“Thank you,” the angel murmured, although from the slight flush in his cheeks and the tilt of his head, Crowley wasn’t entirely convinced that he hadn’t secretly liked the demon’s mischief. 

  
  


It was a rather long drive to Normandy, but the undulating hills like curves of supple flesh, the green plains, and the little picturesque villages along the calm, blue sea made the time pass quickly. When they stopped for lunch, the camembert was of such a fine quality, it melted on the tongue. Aziraphale had proclaimed it pure decadence, closing his eyes and sighing in the little bistro. There was a rich veal escalope after that seemed to bring the angel even more bliss as he used the last of the bread to soak up every bit of the creamy sauce with its savory mix of cider, heavy cream, and mushrooms. 

"That was an absolute revelation," Aziraphale sighed, leaning back to sip sweet pommeau.

Crowley shook his head. He'd been transfixed by the angel licking his fingers, savoring every last morsel. God, he wondered sometimes if Aziraphale wasn’t secretly aware of how this affected him. Perhaps he did have just the slightest demonic tendency towards torture, or at least masochism. _What are you doing to me, angel? You bloody well knew this would happen, it’s not like you haven’t seen him do this for 6000 years._

"Sssoo," Crowley hissed, "not a bad idea then?" 

Aziraphale smiled, the unique smile where his eyes lit up and his nose wrinkled that Crowley could never resist. "Not at all, my dear boy. One of your best, I dare say." 

"Just wait until you see where we're staying tonight," Crowley answered, a nervous anticipation filling him. _God...Sata… somebody, I hope he likes it._

Crowley himself never favored classical music with a few exceptions. There was a time when he quite fancied the melancholy, the subversive nature of Chopin's work. His compositions had been described as _cannons buried in flowers_ , and Cowley quite liked that. He found himself not minding the selection of nocturnes that played although it would undoubtedly turn into a Queen album before the end of their trip. 

"I was thinking Italy next, then perhaps Japan." Aziraphale patted his knee in time with the music. 

Crowley looked over at him with a soft smile. "I already told you, angel. Anywhere you like. I only planned as far as France. Thought you might like to plan the rest." 

"That was very ni… kind of you, Crowley. Isn't there somewhere you would like to go?" 

Crowley shrugged. "Anywhere you are is fine with me." Aziraphale’s wide-eyed gaze gave him pause and he stammered, “Always wanted to see Japan. It wouldn’t be any fun by myself.” _You're my home. More than heaven or hell, even more than Earth._

Aziraphale’s smile was as bright as the first rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds after the flood, and Crowley was lost, hands caressing the steering wheel, his angel's happiness soothing his nerves. 

Crowley finally drove up a hillside to a chateau nestled in the middle of an apple orchard, a sort of Eden of their own surrounded by gardens with roses, lilies, and daffodils. The outside was stately and grand, reflecting the age it was built in, two-stories with red brick walls and a terra cotta tile roof. Ivy climbed up the walls, framing the windows, and fragrant jasmine wreathed the front archway. A cobble-stoned path led to a lush front garden, and Crowley had to suppress his desire to chastise any wayward plants.

"Here we are. Our home for the night," Crowley said. Aziraphale walked a few paces around the garden, placed his hand on the trunk of an apple tree, and turned to look at Crowley with tears shimmering in his eyes. 

Hands in his pockets, Crowley struggled to form coherent sentences. "We can stay somewhere else. I mean, somewhere nicer. Different. I didn't know. I'll take you anywhere you like, angel." 

Aziraphale shook his head and whispered, “No.” 

Crowley’s shoulders slumped. _Maybe we should have stayed in Paris._

"It's beautiful. Perfect." 

Aziraphale wiped the tears from his eyes then moved to stand before Crowley, instantly causing the demon to lose all coherent thoughts. The angel took his hand in his own and squeezed it. For a moment, Crowley glanced down at their joined hands as shocked as if someone had poured ice water down his shirt. Unable to speak, he could only focus on how soft and warm Aziraphale’s hand was. 

When he did remember to speak, he could only spit out disjointed words. “Tour? Inside. Ngk. Ssshow you now.” He tugged on the angel’s hand, leading him inside, stubbing his toe on the threshold and dropping Aziraphale’s hand.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Crowley hopped up and down as if he’d stepped onto consecrated ground, and Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder, frowning. 

“Oh, dear. Are you quite alright, Crowley?” 

He waved a hand and muttered, “I’m alright.” 

“If you’re hurting, I could miracle it better?” Aziraphale’s hand was rubbing small circles on his shoulder, and the feeling was almost unbearingly exquisite like a hot stone resting on his back. 

He knew he needed to get out from under the searing hot palm before he discorporated, so he straightened up and muttered, “You worry too much, angel.” 

“The kitchen is just there. It has an oven and all the latest appliances.” _Well, now you’ve done it. You sound like a bloody real estate agent. He doesn’t want to know about the appliances._

Aziraphale stared at him with gentle amusement and politely replied, “Yes, I see.” 

It was the perfect mix of old and new, with all the grace and comfort of the early 19th century next to every modern convenience. Not knowing how comfortable his angel would be sharing a room, Crowley had made sure he had prepared two bedrooms, although he longed for the comfort of Aziraphale lying close, a tousled blonde head resting over his heart, fingertips reaching out to touch his own in the dark. The fridge was stocked with everything his angel loved, and there happened to be a wonderful coq au vin still warm on the stove, a rich apple tart, and sweet calvados waiting for them. While Aziraphale finished exploring, Crowley finished making preparations for a picnic, grateful for a few minutes to calm his racing heart. _He touched me._

Watching Aziraphale once again savor each tender morsel and lick the sauce from his fingers was an exquisite pleasure. Crowley's hands subconsciously tightened in the tartan blanket spread under a willow tree whose curtain of branches skimmed the ground and made it perfect for shielding lovers from prying eyes. 

Crowley struggled to remember how to mold his mouth to form words. How tantalizing the angel was with his gala apple cheeks, hair disheveled, an inch of pale skin exposed at his throat where his bowtie slipped down.

"I have dessert. Would you like a bite? It's apple tart. Made with apples from this orchard." Crowley's knife sliced through the crisp outer crust and into the warm fruit within. He dared to hold out a bite of calvados-soaked apple to Aziraphale, hand trembling a little. 

The angel had quite enjoyed the pommeau, and now the calvados had made him pleasantly warm and tipsy so the laughter bubbled out.

"I wonder if it is wise to accept an apple from you? It seems to me it didn't end well for Eve… or Adam." 

"Just try it, angel. I don't think there's anything magical about these apples. They grow all over the region." Crowley held the fork a bit closer, knowing the angel couldn't resist. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth and Crowley fed him the dessert, holding his breath as the angel closed his eyes, the neutral expression on his face transforming into one of exquisite bliss. His eyes focused on the bit of sauce that trickled down from the angel’s lips and lingered at the corners. Aziraphale was close enough, he could kiss it away if he leaned forward just a few inches. His eyes darted to the angel’s eyelids, closed in bliss under impossibly long lashes and the way they fluttered, then moved back to the pink lips, slightly parted, and all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to slide his tongue across them, taste that sweet mouth and steal that first kiss. 

"You wily serpent. It's splendid. And I dare say rather sinful." Leaning forward, he opened his mouth for another bite. Crowley was sweating beneath his jacket, watching the movements of the full, parted lips, although sweating was not strictly a necessary physiological response. _He likes it. I wonder if he knows how he looks right now. Fuck._

He fed him another bite and then another until the plate was empty and his angel rested against his shoulder under the tree as the first stars came out. Crowley parted the branches as if he had drawn back a curtain with a small miracle so they could see the stars without having to move from their comfortable spot. 

Watching the stars was bittersweet for Crowley. It was like looking into the windows of a childhood home, knowing he could never return there. He sighed for a moment, but wouldn't let himself descend into melancholy as there was a beautiful and very warm angel whose head was resting on his shoulder. Crowley thought he might be hallucinating for a moment as he saw a flash of tiny golden lights all over the orchard, first one, and then two more, then a dozen until it looked like they rested in a starfield, as if the stars had fallen from the heavens to greet them. 

"Did you… do this for me?” he managed to choke out. 

Aziraphale looked positively delighted with himself. "I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you shouldn't think so loud. I can hardly help picking things up if you go around broadcasting your thoughts. I thought I would bring the stars to you, well, in a manner of speaking.” 

Crowley looked at the fireflies set against the darkening orchard and began to come undone as the lights arranged themselves into shapes, outlines of galaxies and constellations. A small hand, its fingers softer and chubbier than his own brushed away the tears, ever so gently, the touch unraveling every fiber of his being. 

In the dying light, soft lips pressed kisses to his closed eyelids and cheeks, following the teartracks. For a moment, or perhaps an eternity, the world around him seemed to disappear, and it was only he and Aziraphale. The angel was kissing him, and he was paralyzed, eyelids fluttering at each soft press of lips. It was wonderful and terrifying. _Is this real? Oh, please let it be real. I never expected his lips to feel so damned soft. I’ve waited for you to kiss me for 6000 years._

The angel’s lips continued kissing along his jaw, towards his lips, and the feeling was too much, too exquisite. It paralyzed him at first, the lips and hands tracing his face, molding his skin like a potter molds a lump of raw clay.

_What are you doing to me, Aziraphale? You’ve been cruel before, contemptuous. This is something different. This feels like worship. Like creation. Are you changing me, shifting crude matter_ _the way God did to make the first man? How would you change me?_

Aziraphale's lips tasted of apples and the promise of sin as they kissed, a clumsy crash of lips and tongues and teeth like the first bite into the first apple, hard flesh giving way to reveal the tender insides, the juicy sweet and tart on the tongue. Crowley was all tension and frantic desire, his body responding in very human ways to every touch. The angel had shifted so his warm, pliant body was pressed almost on top of Crowley, hands slowly caressing his neck, his chest, tangling in his hair. _I could kiss him forever. Until the world ends again. I’ve never kissed anyone before. It feels good. Right. Kiss me like Eve kissed Adam in the Garden, the smell of earth all around us, our bodies crushing the fallen petals of flowers._

When Aziraphale’s hands started on the buttons of his shirt, Crowley took his hands in his own and gently disentangled himself from the angel, careful to make sure Aziraphale understood that it wasn’t any sort of repulsion that made him stop. All he wanted in that moment was to make love to him in the orchard with the scent of apples and the soft glow of fireflies, but the fact remained that Aziraphale was slightly drunk, and Crowley wouldn’t let his angel go through with something he might regret in the morning, no matter how badly he wanted him. 

“You’re drunk, Aziraphale.” They did enjoy more than one glass of pommeau after all, but Crowley didn’t feel more than pleasantly buzzed. He’d had the potent drink before while Aziraphale it seemed, hadn’t.

“And you’re no fun.” The angel pouted, flopping on top of his chest and effectively pinning him in place. 

Within a few moments, Aziraphale had fallen asleep, leaving Crowley to pick him up, and carry him into one of the bedrooms. With loving care, he removed the brown oxfords and laid Aziraphale on the bed, then kissed his forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, angel.” 

As he turned to leave, Aziraphale’s hand shot out and grasped his arm. “Ngnoo. Stay. Please.” 

Crowley stared at him and frowned and stopped functioning altogether. After a few more tugs on his arm from Aziraphale, presence of mind slithered back into his body and he unfroze himself. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, angel.” _He wants me to stay. He. Wants. Me. To. Stay. God, if you’re listening, you bastard, you know I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. But.. perhaps I could? I could just sleep on the other side. Just— just let me be close to him for a little while. I’d never— wouldn’t do anything untoward towards your angel._

“Good idea. Best idea. Come here. C--cold,” Aziraphale slurred. 

“Alright, but no funny business,” Crowley chuckled as he smoothed the angel’s disheveled curls and tucked his limbs back under the covers. 

Aziraphale had only ever asked him to stay the night once before just after the world didn’t end.They had shared a bed that night, mainly out of practicality since Crowley's flat didn't have a guest room or a comfy sofa like the bookshop. He had been so worried that he might scare Aziraphale away with the suggestion that they share the same bed, but the angel had seemed to need the comfort as much as Crowley. Even though the demon had kept to his own side at first, Aziraphale's hand had reached out, taken his own and held tight. 

"I don't want it to end,” Aziraphale had whispered in the dark.

Trying to bury his own fears deep, Crowley had dared to embrace him, enfolding him in arms first and then his wings, as if the bone and muscles and feathers of his corporation were enough to shield him from the end. Burying his face in the white hair as soft as down feathers, he had inhaled the pleasant scent of paper, lavender, and ambergris that clung to the angel, wanting to remember it forever. In the dark, he had promised in the soft cadence he once used to sing lullabies, "It's going to be alright, Angel." He had not been sure he believed that at all, but how could he break Aziraphale's heart? 

Removing only his jacket and shoes and otherwise staying fully clothed, Crowley crawled into the other side of the bed, so very eager to take his angel’s hand, to curl up against his warmth and softness. Instead, he busied his restless mind with listening to the wind rustling through the trees. _What will you think of me when you’re sober? Of this? Maybe one day, I’ll be able to fall asleep listening to your heartbeat._ Gazing at the unruly curls, Crowley barely suppressed the urge to card his fingers through them, to brush them from his forehead. _He truly looks like an angel when he’s sleeping._

It was Aziraphale that ended up pressed against Crowley during the night, one arm slung across Crowley’s chest and Aziraphale’s head resting against his shoulder, fitting perfectly against his lean frame, altogether creating a wonderfully pleasant, if slightly hot, feeling. 

Crowley did take a small liberty, burying his nose in the soft, tousled hair, to inhale the familiar scent of lavender, paper, and ambergris. The warmth spreading through his entire body from the places their skin touched was the most lovely feeling. 

Crowley hated the cold, always had. Somehow, the halls of heaven had felt just as sterile as any human hospital and as cold as if the celestial thermostat was perpetually set to freezing. 

Tonight, he was restless, currently pinned by a snoring angel and unable to change his position as he tended to do several times during the night, yet he didn’t mind. Aziraphale’s head rested heavy on his chest. One of his arms was flung across Crowley’s middle, and a plump thigh draped across his legs. Even the angel’s soft belly pressed felt wonderfully warm against his side. He should have felt trapped, but instead, he felt safer than he ever had. For the first time, he feels at peace with the universe, with _Her._ He wrapped his arm around the snoring angel, held him in a protective embrace. _Whatever you wish me to be, I will be for you, angel. As long as I live._

Crowley slipped out of Aziraphale’s arms somehow just before dawn, perhaps through a minor miracle to muffle his footfalls and keep his beloved from feeling the shifting of the mattress and the absence of warmth. In the kitchen, he made a hot cup of tea complete with a hangover remedy he’d discovered in the Amazon Basin in the 19th Century that should ease the angel’s imminent throbbing headache until he was able to properly sober up. Once he had finished mixing the sweet-tasting concoction, he returned to the bedroom to take care of Aziraphale. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Crowley whispered affectionately, “Good morning, angel.” 

Aziraphale groaned and refused to open his eyes. When Crowley gently touched his shoulder, he buried his face in the pillow. Opening bleary eyes, he reached blindly for Crowley, patting the bed until he managed to reach his thigh. He tugged on the material, trying to drag him back into bed. Chuckling, Crowley slipped into bed beside him and curled around him carefully. 

After a moment, Aziraphale choked out, “Good is a relative term. Would you kindly tell the elephants to stop dancing on my skull.” 

Crowley sat up, reaching for the mug on the nightstand much to Aziraphale’s dismay. “I have something that might chase them away.” 

Only one hand crept out, flopped about like a fish on the bed, then disappeared back under the covers. In a few moments, Aziraphale pulled back the covers and struggled to sit up after several false starts. Crowley had drawn the blinds to help lessen Aziraphale's discomfort. 

"Here, angel." Crowley handed Aziraphale the warm mug, frowning when he saw how queasy he looked. "Do you want me to miracle it away?" 

"You made this for me. It would be a shame to waste it," the angel replied nursing the tea. 

Crowley smiled fondly, wishing he could kiss him. He looked so tempting in his disheveled state. Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying the tea, judging by the way he cradled the warm cup in his hand and closed his eyes as he sipped it.

"How are you feeling now?" Crowley asked reaching forward to brush a curl from his forehead then losing his nerve.

"It only hurts a little.Thank you.” Aziraphale even wiggled a bit on the bed as he finished the last of the tea. 

“No trouble at all, angel. You’ll still need to sober up a bit.” Crowley bit his lip. "If you like, I could rub your head for you.” _Anything, angel. Anything at all. Nothing is too much to ask._

“Well, I suppose it might help a little,” Aziraphale said coyly with a tilt of his head. “You know you haven’t let me do anything for _you._ There must be something you would like. 

Sitting down beside him, Crowley began to massage his temples, working across his forehead and to the base of his neck. “You don’t have to.” _He would want to? Do I deserve it? Is it even right to allow him to?_

“Perhaps I want to.” The angel’s eyes closed and he let out a little moan.  
  


“Maybe later. How does that feel, Angel?” Crowley asked mainly to avoid anymore discussion of the topic. He wasn’t sure he could avoid instant discorporation at the first touch of the angel’s hands.

“Lovely. Just lovely, Crowley dear.” After a long pause, Aziraphale shifted and Crowley could feel the tension returning to his neck. “What happened last night?” 

“We had dinner and drank some wine.” 

Aziraphale fidgeted with the bedclothes. “I remember that. I meant after.” 

“Oh you mean did we—?” Crowley stumbled over words and stopped massaging the angel’s neck. “No, nothing happened. We, well, we— ah, slept together. Not like that! You asked me to stay so I did and you fell asleep in my arms.” 

“Oh dear, I do hope I didn’t embarrass myself,” Aziraphale replied, hands clasped in front of his stomach. 

“You, angel? No, I don’t think you could.” A playful grin crossed Crowley’s face. “I forgot to mention the part where you danced naked in the fountain in the town square.” 

“I did nothing of the sort, you… you… wily serpent.” Aziraphale tossed a pillow at him that missed his head and bounced off the wall. 

Crowley grinned and picked it up. “My mistake. I thought we could have breakfast and then get back on the road if you like. You still have to tell me where we’re headed next?”

“Oh.” The angel’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “Could we go to Venice?” 

There was a moment of hesitation, a stutter before Crowley was able to reply. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want, angel.” He was smiling, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

  
  
  
  


_Crowley still felt a slight pang of nausea when he smelled certain herbs. He had been there in 1656, seen so much death, been at the bedsides insulated in his leather robe and the birdlike mask of a doctor. The herbs and flowers stuffed into the compartments in the mask did nothing to hide the cloying odor of death that permeated the city. He had ridden, perched like a Stygian ferryman on the boats that took the infected to Lazzaretto Vecchio, knowing for most of them, they would never return._

“Is something wrong, Crowley?” Aziraphale already looked slightly downcast. _Everything. That beautiful, cursed city. I don’t want to set foot in it again, but for you, angel, I will go anywhere._

“Of course not. Just need to get packed up.” His smile returned, if for no other reason than to see his angel smile. 

  
  


At Aziraphale’s insistence, they took a gondola ride in the Venetian canals under a clear, blue sky and were serenaded by an overly enthusiastic gondolier. Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s shoulder, and for a moment all was right with the world. The gondola bumped against the side of the canal, causing the angel to fall against him, landing squarely against his chest. 

Laughing like a child as the gondolier continued singing, Crowley was drowning in the calm sea of Aziraphale’s eyes, a rich blue that shifted with the light.. Crowley had always thought his eyes were the true evidence of his ethereal nature. _How can he be so close to me? There’s little flecks of green in the irises. How the devil did it take me so long to notice?_

It was Aziraphale that closed the distance, rested a warm hand on Crowley’s cheek, leaned in close, and whispered. “I would very much like to kiss you right now, if you aren’t opposed.” _I could never be opposed, angel. I’d kiss you before all of Venice._

Crowley dissolved into a mass of inarticulate mumbling followed by a tiny nod of his head that he hoped Aziraphale could see. Their lips touched, and it was so different from the first kiss, sweet and somehow warming him to the tips of his toes despite being over in a matter of seconds. It might have lasted longer had the gondolier not begun singing a second verse. Crowley silenced him with an irritated snap of his fingers and, tangling a hand in Aziraphale’s hair, kissed the angel again, slow and lingering. Aziraphale didn’t speak but rested his head over Crowley’s heart.

They spent the rest of the ride in blessed silence, fingers intertwined, tangled up in each other until Aziraphale kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose and whispered, “See? I told you this was a good idea.” 

Smiling softly and wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, Crowley answered, a soft smile on his face, “Definitely not your worst.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as they passed a small restaurant on the corner. The glow from the candles in the window and the scent of fresh-baked bread, cooking meat, and spices wafting from the doorway caused the angel to stop, tug Crowley’s sleeve, and look at him with 

an expression that the demon found both infuriating and completely endearing. 

“I thought you wanted to dine in the center of town, Aziraphale?” _I was hoping to really spoil you, and you decide on this tiny place?_

“Could we try this one instead? There’s something about it. A feeling of… history, family… warmth.” Aziraphale’s hands straightened his waistcoat and he closed his eyes, inhaling the aroma and perhaps sensing something beyond Crowley’s understanding. 

“Of course, angel. As long as you’re happy.” With a smile, Crowley escorted him inside and ordered a bottle of wine while Aziraphale fretted for quite some time over whether to order pasta or _fegato alla Veneziana_ or _polenta_ or one of the many other fine dishes. Finally, with a quirk of his eyebrow, Crowley called the waiter over and told him, “Bring us one of everything on your menu.” 

“My dear boy, we couldn’t possibly...” Aziraphale started to object, but then grinned and replied, “Well, I suppose it would be rather rude not to indulge.” 

“Exactly,” Crowley replied, sipping his wine and watching as Aziraphale delicately spread butter on the homemade bread, then slipped it between parted lips and bit into the warm crust. He could only watch for a few moments before he had to look away, cheeks warming, trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. _This is a more exquisite torture than any demon could concoct._

Crowley kept on watching him eating— bits of liver in robust sauce, gnocchi, bigoli, polenta. After, he took just a few bites of his dessert, but fed most of the tiramisu to Aziraphale. 

“Well, angel, was it good?” 

Aziraphale looked altogether decadent as he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed, one hand resting on his pleasantly full stomach. “Absolutely divine.” 

An inch of the angel’s belly was exposed when he stretched his arms over his head, and Crowley curled his hands into his thighs to avoid reaching out to touch the smooth, pale skin. When his blue eyes opened, they widened, noticing Crowley staring and Aziraphale blushed, tugging his waistcoat down with a muttered, “Oh dear.” 

Crowley paid the check and offered his arm to a very content Aziraphale. “Don’t worry, angel.” 

“I only wish the shops were open this late,” Aziraphale said as they walked by rows of windows, darkening before their eyes. 

“Well… are you sure all of them are closed? That one looks open to me,” Crowley replied, pointing to a sign advertising masks and figurines over the doorway where a man was struggling to turn the sign from open to closed as an unseen force prevented it from moving. 

The rather irritated man growled for them to come in and busied himself with sweeping the floor while they looked around. Aziraphale was positively delighted, thankfully remaining unaware of Crowley’s discomfort as he examined the sea of faces of porcelain, leather, and gesso. There were familiar images on every wall.

“Oh look at this one— it’s lovely,” Aziraphale said as he lifted a jeweled and gilded harlequin mask and held it to his face. Smiling and giving him a warm chuckle, Crowley lifted a jeweled Gnaga, a cat-shaped mask in front of his face. 

“I rather fancy this one. Very good for hiding.” It had been a long time since he last peered through the cat’s eyes. 

“Very good for trouble too as I recall,” Aziraphale replied, setting aside the harlequin mask in favor of the clown, Pierrot. 

Crowley froze as Aziraphale handed him another mask to try, the birdlike beak and round eyes concealed by thick goggles. Suddenly, Crowley was unable to ignore the scent of decay that filled the room. 

_Painted and gilded faces mingled in a sumptuous ballroom, silk skirts of the most beautiful ladies in the city billowed, the movements as graceful as the undulations of brightly colored jellyfish while the noblemen in their finery strutted like peacocks. It was one of the many parties Crowley had been to during the Carnival. Anything and everything was permissible during that season. Crowley thrived on the chaos. He found he didn’t actually have much work to do as the humans usually succumbed to temptation during Carnival without any assistance from him._

_There were rumors of another plague spreading across Europe, but in Venice, they were safe from all that._

_Crowley was there when a man was brought inside the estate, sickly and pale, sores oozing on his face, cough rattling his lungs. As the infection spread, Crowley watched the bodies of all those beauties fall to ruin within a few weeks. Within months, most of them were dead._

_Crowley had done what he could, or at least as much as he dared without arousing suspicion. The nightmare visage had frightened the children he once saw playing along the canals as he approached covered from head to toe in the long leather coat and gloves. He wasn’t allowed to heal them strictly speaking, but he did help them discover quarantine. Though it had seemed particularly cruel at the time, it had saved so many. He would be tortured eternally if Hell ever found out that he had healed some of the ones in the early stages on the island_. 

Jolted back to the present by Aziraphale holding the mask against his face, he shoved it aside. 

Aziraphale caught the delicate mask before it hit the ground. “Crowley, dear? Are you alright?” 

“I need air.” Turning on his heels, Crowley left the shop, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly, the scent of rotting flesh and herbs gradually fading. 

Aziraphale set the mask down and thanked the shopkeeper, then quickly followed Crowley outside. “Let’s take a walk. How far is it to our accommodations?” 

“Not far. Remember that apartment you liked? The one with the garden and the big balcony?” Crowley straightened up, reminding himself to let the past stay buried and enjoy every moment with Aziraphale. _You can’t change the past. Don’t you dare ruin this for him._

“Yes. Shame it was rented.” Aziraphale suddenly guessed the surprise. “You don’t mean? Really?” He grinned. “How? You didn’t…” 

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “If you’re going to ask, angel, no, I didn’t hurt anyone? On the contrary, I sent them on vacation.” 

  
“What a lovely thing to do. Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale clung to his arm as they fell into step together. 

After a few moments, Aziraphale spoke, voice soft and kind. “Crowley? I know what the problem is.” 

Freezing in the middle of the street, Crowley hissed. “What problem? There’s no problem.” 

_Only that while we stay in Venice, I can’t stop seeing the city burning, or smelling death. Why can’t you leave it alone, angel? Just this once?_

_You were there too. You were a scholar then. Maybe you’ve forgotten or you didn’t recognize the masked doctor that grabbed your arm and shoved you into a carriage before you could get yourself discorporated trying to rescue your manuscripts. You thought it was our people for years. You never knew that it was your head office that sent the plague to cleanse the city of its wickedness. I could never stand to tell you._

“Perhaps we should leave Venice tomorrow?” Aziraphale replied, steering him carefully back to the sidewalk and in the direction of their flat. 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Crowley replied. “Not yet. Still something else I need to do before we leave.” 

With Crowley’s help, Aziraphale found their flat and poured them each a glass of wine. There was no debate that night as Crowley simply let himself be led to bed and helped out of his clothes and into black silk pajamas. Aziraphale’s hands worked with gentle care to button up the top and smooth Crowley’s tousled hair. “There, now. Shall I sleep in the other room, or shall I stay tonight?” 

Crowley blinked back tears. “Stay? Please.” _I need you, angel. I need you, your softness, your scent._

Aziraphale’s eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled and settled down on the bed, drawing Crowley close, brushing away his tears. After a few minutes, Crowley began to speak, voice broken, every muscle tense. “Do you know what the worst part was, angel? Every day when I ferried the infected to the island, I expected to see you there among the infected or the dead. When you didn’t show up for the meeting after the masquerade ball, I thought you’d left or been infected and discorporated." 

“When half of the city was burning, I looked for you everywhere. I thought I’d lost you! Then, I found out you were in a bloody library studying astronomy.” 

“Found me? What do you mean, dear boy?” Aziraphale blinked in confusion and shifted in his arms. 

“You were too worried about your manuscripts and there wasn’t time to explain. I only had time to drag you to a carriage.” 

“That was you?” Aziraphale asked, eyes widening. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the most delicate skin on the inside of his wrist. “You didn’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

In the morning, Crowley had breakfast prepared and waiting for Aziraphale on the veranda which was tinted the most vivid shades of red and orange by a truly spectacular sunrise.

Oh, this is splendid. It looks absolutely scrummy!” the angel gushed as he followed Crowley onto the balcony in his tartan pajamas, stopping long enough to kiss him on the cheek before sitting opposite him at the small marble-topped table, just cozy enough for two. 

“Aziraphale? Do you remember when you asked me if I ever modeled for any artists?” Tongue loosened by a rather nice sleep in his angel’s arms, Crowley was all too eager to discuss the matter now. Especially if it meant avoiding certain other unpleasant topics. 

“Yes, I remember you quite emphatically said you didn’t,” Aziraphale replied. 

“Yes well, erm, it was more of an, uh— anatomy study than art, really.” Crowley trailed off, suddenly aware of the unintended implications and scrambled to explain. “No— not like that. It was all really very boring, strictly professional. Stand here. Hold your arms out like this. Legs like this.” 

Standing, he demonstrated one of the poses, wobbling ungracefully. “Sort of like this I think. Been an awfully long time.” 

“You’re the Vitruvian man? Really?” Aziraphale laughed at first. “No. That wasn’t really you, was it?” Crowley could see the slightest darkening of Aziraphale’s expression. His smile grew colder, the forced smile he used when discussing official business. “I suppose that was quite the talk of Hell, the way you tempted him.” 

“You’ve got it all wrong, angel. I never tempted him. I inspired him.” 

Crowley remembered the artist fondly and the day he came upon Crowley bathing carelessly in a stream, shirt set aside and wings outstretched in all their glory. Where others would have run in terror upon seeing a winged man, da Vinci had greeted him and offered to share his wine. 

The artist didn’t find the moment erotic, though he immediately told Crowley he must model for him. As for the nature of what he was, although Crowley was somewhat less than truthful with him, da Vinci didn’t ask many questions of his muse. He was a man far beyond his time, a scholar, a brilliant eccentric, and a rare talent. Crowley soon considered him a dear friend. While not exactly a saintly act, giving the artist the knowledge he needed to construct his flying machine, it was not exactly pure evil either. He supposed it made him a bit like Prometheus giving fire to the humans. 

“And you just so happened to inspire him out of your clothes?” Aziraphale fussed with a definite pout. _Is it actually possible you’re jealous, angel? You’ve always been the only being for me._

Crowley sighed and shook his head as he explained. “It wasn’t like that at all, angel. He used me as a model for anatomy studies and studies of wings. When I entered his studio, he didn’t see me as Crowley, he saw me as a bunch of interconnected muscles. It was deadly dull and I was usually cold.” 

“Really? But think of the conversations you must have had, _da Vinci_ , imagine it!” Aziraphale bit rather aggressively into his toast. 

“Yeah,” Crowley shrugged and fidgeted. “I suppose we did. I can’t believe you never met him.” 

“Yes, well. I had other business to attend to.” Aziraphale looked anywhere but directly at Crowley for a few minutes until the demon cleared his throat pointedly and reassured him. 

“In all my years on earth, there’s only ever been you, angel.” He moved to kneel in front of him, took his hand and kissed it. The action softened the angel enough that his hand came to rest on Crowley’s flame-colored hair and carded through it, the gentleness of Aziraphale’s touch making Crowley’s eyelids flutter. _Look at me, kneeling at your feet, angel. I would do anything for you. How can I make you see?_

“I know.” Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin, and let his fingertips trail over his cheekbone. “There’s no need for that. You know how fond I am of you.” _Fond? People are fond of a bloody cocker spaniel. What does that mean? Still… he feels something for me. Fond is better than nothing. I know what you are to me, angel, but what am I to you?_

“Let me treat you to something. You’ve been driving so much lately and I’ve seen how you’re holding your neck.” 

“You don’t have to, really.” Crowley stood and stuffed his hands awkwardly into the small pockets of his black skinny jeans. 

“Crowley, Would you ever so kindly sit back down right now?” The response was only phrased as a question because etiquette dictated it should be. Crowley knew it was rather a command and one he would certainly regret not obeying. 

He sat back down in front of the angel, nestled between his thighs and waited, pulse racing and skin already heated. The angel’s thumbs pressed the back of his neck, just under his ears and slid down the muscles always stiff as iron girders despite the fluid nature of his spindly limbs. The touch was somewhere between agonizing and pleasant until the angel found a spot that suddenly caused the tight muscles to relax. An embarrassing yelp slipped out, causing the angel to flatten his hands out at the base of his neck and stop massaging him. 

“Oh, dear? Have I hurt you? I don’t realize my own strength sometimes.” 

Crowley’s jaw opened and closed several times as if it was being worked by a ventriloquist’s hand, and he managed to choke out. “No….good….more.”

Looking back at Aziraphale for a moment, he swore the bastard angel was smirking as his hands kneaded his neck and shoulders. When the angel pressed a kiss there, he slid down to the floor as if he had melted into a puddle of Crowley-shaped goo.

Later, after Crowley had splashed cold water on his face and miracled their breakfast dishes away, he found Aziraphale reading on the veranda. “Ready to go?” 

“Go where, dear boy?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

“I can’t tell you. It would ruin the surprise,” Crowley grinned cheekily. 

“I usually detest surprises, but… I do like a bit of mystery.” Aziraphale went from fretting to grinning in a matter of seconds.

Crowley recalled how the angel’s love of spy and thriller novels had landed him into quite a few scrapes over the years. Every time, the demon had been there to rescue him, although Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate and Soldier of the Legion of Heaven was quite formidable enough to rescue himself if he had truly wanted that. Those occasions, 1941, 1958, and 1972 had all allowed him to show his devotion to the angel, and he had thoroughly enjoyed playing the hero. 

Crowley led him to a water taxi at the Fondemont Nove station that was naturally empty except for the pair of them as all the visitors had decided to take the next one, perhaps because of the vision of snakes crawling on the seats that had suddenly filled their heads. Even though it was a ten minute boat ride, Crowley had brought along a tin with cheese and crackers and some champagne for them to share. Afterall, a well-fed angel was a happy one. 

“Ah, this is lovely,” Aziraphale whispered between bites of brie and gouda. 

“Thought you might like it. The driver will be ours for the entire day. We can take a tour of the Grand Canal, stop at some of the islands. I thought that we could stop at Murano, maybe Burano and Torcello. 

“That sounds splendid. And maybe we could stop at one of the small cafes for lunch. I have quite the craving for gelato. You just can’t find a proper gelato in London.” 

Crowley chuckled. “Sure. Whatever you like, angel.” 

When they arrived, Crowley offered his hand to Aziraphale and they walked along beside the brightly-painted narrow buildings and the deep blue water of the canal until they came to a large, old building with a glass sculpture with red and orange projections resembling an abstract sun. 

“This is one of the oldest glass factories here. You can watch them work and even request custom pieces. What do you think, angel? Care to take a look around?” 

“Oh, yes! Perhaps we could find something for the bookshop. Something special?” Crowley smiled softly as he escorted him into the large building with a central workshop and furnace. Each corner and wall was filled with brightly colored objects— vases, charms, chandeliers, and various other pieces of furniture and baubles. 

“Oh, it’s marvelous. Look! There’s someone working!” 

Aziraphale grabbed his arm and half-dragged him over to the furnace where a man who appeared to be in his fifties or so wielded a long pipe with a shapeless lump of molten glass on the end. They watched as he turned and shifted it, removing it from the flame then using long handled tongs and other tools to shape it into a cylindrical shape. Next, they watched as the molten glass was rolled carefully in brightly colored glass beads that adhered to the surface then returned to the furnace, removed, and reshaped again, the color from the beads starting to bleed into the vase. 

"It's rather extraordinary, isn't it?" Aziraphale remarked as details were etched into the vessel's surface. 

"The glass has to be melted down and more than once completely broken in order to make all of this," Crowley explained. 

Aziraphale studied Crowley, smiling softly. "And it results in something stronger, more beautiful." 

The demon turned his face away, thankful his slightly misty eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses. “Come on. Let's look around." 

Aziraphale handled each piece with the utmost care, the same delicate touch he used to examine precious manuscripts. Crowley saw movement and quickly turned towards it, only to be confronted by their own reflections in an ornate, antique Venetian mirror. Delicate golden filigree snakes coiled around cherubs, plump and round-faced adorned its borders. 

“I see something beautiful,” Crowley said, indicating Aziraphale’s image in a wasted attempt to be charming. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Oh, it’s exquisite, Crowley.” His smile turned into a frown when he noticed the sign that said not for sale. “Oh dear.” 

“Just wait a moment, angel,” Crowley replied and crooked his index finger just so. “Look again.” 

The wording on the sign suddenly read On sale today. “Crowley!” Aziraphale chastised him half-heartedly. 

Crowley looked at him and lowered his sunglasses just enough so that his wink could be seen by Aziraphale. “What? I’m still a demon after all.” _How beautiful you will look in that mirror, Aziraphale. Perhaps one day, it will hang in a home we share._

Crowley purchased the mirror and although the shop did not normally deliver overseas, they made an exception. He turned to see Aziraphale looking at a line of pendants- hearts, animals, little brightly colored glass spheres. The angel’s gaze was fixed on a delicate clear glass pendant with a heart in the center and a coiled black snake with a red-pigmented streak down its back. 

Crowley stepped up behind him. “Do you like that one, angel?” 

Aziraphale wrung his hands, gaze flitting about the room. “Well, the workmanship is rather spectacular, but it’s so terribly expensive and we couldn’t possibly get both.” 

“Alright, angel. I suppose you’re right,” Crowley sighed and led him out of the shop and back to the waiting water taxi. He’d have to return in the morning to get the pendant. 

  
  
  


Since neither one of them wanted to bother with traveling by air, (Aziraphale had decided that although every experience was worth trying once, one commercial flight was quite enough) Crowley miracled them directly to Tokyo. Instantly, Crowley fell madly in love with the chaotic pace of the city and the bright colors of the digital billboards lining the skyscrapers. Aziraphale found the traffic to be overwhelming and couldn't wait for a moment of peace and quiet. 

The suite Crowley booked in the hotel had a beautiful view of the city and that sort of sleek ultra modern appearance where it was sometimes difficult for Aziraphale to tell if he was turning on the shower or the lights. After Crowley provided some explanations, Aziraphale declared it altogether elegant. 

They visited several beautiful shrines and museums before taking lunch at the Tokyo Skytree where they could look out over the city and eat fusion cuisine like sushi composed of seafood mousse with a delicate eel sauce or saga beef teppanaki so tender it seemed to melt on the palate at the first bite. As always, Crowley nursed a coffee then a sake, watching the almost sinful expressions that passed over the Angel's face, his half-lidded eyes, slightly parted lips, and the quiet moans of pleasure. At one point, Crowley was leaning so far, he nearly toppled from his seat. 

"Oh, this is even more scrummy than I imagined! And the view...simply stunning. Are you quite alright, Crowley?" The angel raised an eyebrow. _I'm hardly alright. I'm about five seconds from discorporation._

The demon, who had been fighting to stifle some rather indecent thoughts, nodded. 

Later that night, they sat together in their suite on the large sofa in relative silence. “Crowley, we’ve known each other for 6000 years. I can tell when something’s not right.” The angel dabbed at his lips with the napkin, and Crowley felt his eyes automatically drawn there, remembering the last time they kissed. 

And suddenly, like a champagne cork had been pulled from his lips, words and phrases gushed out with wild abandon, 6000 years of pent up emotions. “You want to know what’s wrong, angel? I can’t sleep, I can’t bloody think. I trip over my own feet. I need to know before I completely discorporate what I am to you!” Crowley was pacing now, looking at his feet, chest heaving and eyes almost completely yellow. 

“What you are to me? Oh dear. Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale asked. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” 

Crowley blinked and stammered. “Yeah, but you love everything, angel. Even slugs.” 

“You don’t know?” Aziraphale came closer, and in a few moments, his hand was on Crowley’s cheek, turning his head ever so gently. He was coming closer, and Crowley’s sluggish brain wondered for a moment if the angel intended to slap him. 

Aziraphale was close enough now his breath was hot against the demon’s ear when he whispered, “I adore you, Crowley. You really have no idea how dear you are to me, do you? Even after all this time?” 

Before Crowley had time to process the hand on his cheek, Aziraphale was kissing him and his lips parted for the sweet and searching tongue. His arms wrapped around the angel and he drew his soft body flush against his own. 

When at last they parted, they were both flushed and disheveled. “Of course I love you. I’ve loved you since the Blitz.” Aziraphale peppered kisses on his forehead, both cheeks, his nose. 

“I’ve loved you since the beginning. Since Eden,” Crowley replied, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. _He does love me._ The realization struck him, bright and grand as a supernova. 

That night, he stayed up watching Aziraphale sleep, traitorous body sweaty and flushed from the soft curves pressed against him. Only his demon physiology and mentally alphabetizing his CD collection kept his human corporation from betraying him entirely. 

In the morning, Crowley hoped he and his angel could do something truly relaxing. Crowley had selected a particular hot spring that was known for its beauty and privacy and felt rather disgruntled when he heard a group of teenagers laughing then saw one of them jump off the edge soaking the others with a huge cannonball. Crowley felt remarkably underdressed with only a towel wrapped around his waist. The rambunctious teenagers effectively ruined any romantic atmosphere the place might have offered. 

“I thought you said this place was private.” 

“It was last time I came here,” Crowley assured him, neglecting to mention that that was some time around 1650 or so. “They must have snuck in.” 

“Perhaps we should go back to the hotel,” Aziraphale suggested. 

“No, don’t worry, angel. I’ll take care of it,” Crowley promised and started to shrink down, skin morphing into black and red scales until a very large snake rested on top of the towel and headed for the water. Within moments, a chorus of screams was heard all over the springs, and soon there was a mass exodus of several cars in the parking area. 

“Crowley! You could have just asked them to leave or called the manager.” The huge snake slithered through the water and onto shore, briefly curling around Aziraphale’s waist and bumping its nose against his cheek. 

“SSorry, angel. Ssstill a demon. Sstill want to go back to the hotel?” Crowley somehow managed to look extremely sad even as a giant serpent. 

Aziraphale absently scratched under the snake’s nose. “Well, it is a rather lovely day, and it would be a shame to waste it.” 

Crowley shifted back into his human form, not bothering to pick up his towel since no one other than Aziraphale was nearby. They had seen each other’s bodies before in the Roman baths even before they had lived in each other’s skin, and neither was ashamed. Noticing Aziraphale staring, Crowley blushed and stepped quickly into the hot water with a contented sigh. _Is he blushing? At least, after all this time, he still likes what he sees._

“Well, don’t be shy, angel,” Crowley said turning to smile at him, “Come on in.” 

Shedding his clothes, Aziraphale stood in all his glory, giving Crowley just a bit of a show. The sight temporarily rendered the demon speechless as inch by inch, he caught glimpses of Aziraphale’s broad shoulders, then his spine with the little dimples at the base, and his round bottom. Aziraphale had faint scars on his back from the first war. He wondered briefly why the angel decided to keep them when he could simply miracle them away. Crowley thought the blemishes only made Aziraphale more intriguing, longed for a moment to press his lips to each one. There was a tiny mole at his ankle, what humans would consider a birth mark. Humans told their children stories about birth marks being kisses from God. Perhaps the angel had been blessed with one of Her kisses. Turning to give him just a glimpse of the rest, Aziraphale smiled cheekily and stepped into the hot spring. Crowley had always loved Aziraphale’s soft belly. He often imagined how it would feel to kiss it, to have it pressed against the small of his back or sliding over his own soft stomach. _He’s beautiful and I adore every perfect inch of him._

Steam gathered around the angel as he sank into the clear water up to his shoulders and rested on a ledge with his eyes closed and his head tipped back. It was oddly reminiscent of something he would expect to see in hell for a moment until Aziraphale smiled and called him over. Crowley stepped into the water and leaned against the ledge, giving Aziraphale a bit of space so he wouldn’t be crossing any boundaries he shouldn’t. He drank in the sight of his angel relaxed and drowsy and utterly content, committed that wonderful image to memory. 

Cherry blossoms fell onto the surface of the water from a low-hanging branch of a cherry tree. Lifting one on a finger tip, Aziraphale examined the soft pink petal, inhaled the scent, and then, without hesitation, trailed it across Crowley’s nose and cheeks playfully. There was a moment of near-panic before the demon could relax into the sensation, delicate and pleasant and utterly unexpected. 

In hell, Crowley had grown accustomed to constant jostling and shoving, an incessant press of bodies. Before that, in heaven, he was expected to live without touch. What a crime it was to have these exquisitely sensitive human bodies and be condemned not to feel things like this. Crowley released a shuddering breath, golden eyes wide, unable to move as he felt himself shattering. 

“Crowley, dear? Crowley? Are you alright?” Suddenly, the hand was gone from his face, and he let out an embarrassing noise, a soft whine. 

"Ngk— yessss, fine. Perfectly fine. Why wouldn't I be?" _Just seconds away from discorporating from you bloody touching my face. Open me like a flower. Bruise my petals with your touch, anything you want just never stop touching me._

“Truly?” Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder and leaned against him. Momentarily stunned at the sudden warmth and softness, Crowley could only nod. 

“I thought you might regret sullying yourself with a demon’s touch.” There was a profound sadness and pain in his tone as if the words themselves cut him like sharpened steel. 

Aziraphale was leaning forward, face ruddy from the heat, impossibly close to him. “Never. May I kiss you, Crowley?” 

“God yes, angel.” 

Aziraphale was half in his lap then, and he wanted to live forever in the warm summer day of that kiss, the perfect way wet skin slid against wet skin. When Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around his neck to bring their bodies closer, he cried out as the angel’s round belly pressed against his own. One of Aziraphale’s plump thighs had slipped between his legs and was nudging his cock, the angel’s own desire obvious against his hip. _He wants this. We both want this. So why am I holding back now? It isn’t right. The first time should be special… silken sheets, taking our time. I want to worship him in the way he deserves._

Despite every nerve ending in his body protesting, Crowley forced himself to break the kiss, and gently guide the angel out of his lap, much to Aziraphale’s dismay and frustration. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted this?” 

“I do, angel. More than anything,” Crowley replied. “I just… I want to take my time to make this perfect.” He shrugged awkwardly and looked away. 

When he heard the soft chuckle and finally looked at Aziraphale, Crowley was relieved to see that the angel was not angry. Instead, he bore an adoring, slightly amused gaze. “I never took you for being such a romantic, Crowley.” 

“Yes, well, don’t tell the whole world. Ready to get out? I’m turning into an overgrown prune in here.” Crowley fidgeted, glad Aziraphale was in a similar state as he quickly got out of the onsen and offered his hand to Aziraphale before using a miracle to dry them both. 

They dressed and walked arm in arm in Ueno park down a lane carpeted with pink and white blossoms, finally finding a spot to rest on a bench in the park nearby. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Aziraphale said, sighing as he bit into his mango mochi, delighting in the sweetness. 

“I don’t know. I can think of something just as soft and even more beautiful,” Crowley replied, as usual, taking more pleasure in watching the angel eat than actually eating his own chocolate chip one. 

“Name one thing,” the angel said, savoring the final bite with a content sigh. 

Grateful for his glasses and the element of surprise, Crowley answered with a smirk, ”Your skin.” 

“My— my what?” Aziraphale was entirely endearing with his cheeks flushed, orange-stained lips slightly parted. 

“Your skin.” Crowley shifted on the bench, held his own dessert out to Aziraphale. “You should have mine too.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale grinned and took it, eyes lighting up, then he leaned over and kissed Crowley, the taste of sugar and mango on his lips. 

“I’ll always know the way to your heart, angel,” Crowley said, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Aziraphale finished up his last bite of Crowley’s mochi and tossed the wrapping into a bin, then curled close to his side with a happy sigh.

“I quite enjoyed sleeping together, you know. Would you be opposed to doing that again? Just sleeping. Until you’re ready for more.” 

_Yes, ten-thousand times yes. I need your warmth, need to press myself into your soft skin and feel it give way beneath my limbs._ “Of course not, angel. You can sleep with me anytime you like.” Crowley smiled, golden eyes misty behind his glasses from how much he’d missed the feeling of coiling his long limbs around Aziraphale. 

A tour of the Imperial Palace with its beautiful gardens and the Nijubashi bridge reflected beautifully in the clear water below delighted both Crowley and his angel. The Senso-Ji Temple with its sacred doves and Incense and great ornate gate with red paper lanterns was a joy for his angel. Although it was customary for the doves to tell fortunes now, Crowley arranged for one to deliver a message to Aziraphale that said _I Love You_ through a slight miracle. 

Aziraphale blushed and grinned as wide as he dared in public once the astonishment left his face. Reaching for Crowley's hand and interlacing their fingers, Aziraphale leaned in to discreetly whisper in his ear, “I love you too.” 

Crowley stammered for a moment and stared, going so weak in the knees that he thought he might melt like chocolate in the noonday sun if Aziraphale hadn’t been there to steady him. The angel’s voice, asking him if he was quite alright sounded muffled, as if Crowley was underwater. _Of course I’m alright. I’m fucking wonderful. I’ll never get used to hearing him say this._

“Yeah… ngk… yeah. Just fine, angel.” Then, Crowley grinned like an idiot as the angel pulled him against his chest, his soft form warming him from the top of his head to his toes at the same time the arms, strong enough to wield a flaming sword, nearly crushed the breath from him. 

After Japan, there were more wonders: the Pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall of China, Victoria Falls, the castles of Bavaria, yet there was still one place Aziraphale wanted to go with Crowley, and even Crowley’s most demonic and underhanded tricks couldn’t make Aziraphale tell him. 

  
  


Crowley and Aziraphale stood together under a hot sun, hands intertwined. Despite the blindfold preventing him from discovering his angel's surprise too soon, Crowley was content and he trusted Aziraphale with his life. That trust did not prevent him from using the senses afforded by his serpent form to test the air to try to discover clues about his surroundings. He tasted damp earth, water, green growing things— smells that were altogether familiar. 

Aziraphale patted his hand and said, “I need to let go for just a moment, Crowley. Just stay right here.” In a moment, Aziraphale released his hand, and Crowley heard the angel walking away through what he imagined was sand from the muted footfalls. 

“Now, where was it? I just need to find the spot where the last stone was placed— ah— here.” Aziraphale grunted and Crowley heard the sounds of rock grating on rock. 

“Everything, alright, angel? Do you need some help?” Crowley frowned, seconds away from ripping off the blindfold and going to Aziraphale’s rescue.

“No— almost— one more.” Suddenly, the noises stopped and Aziraphale’s warm hand wrapped around his, squeezing it. Crowley felt the small tremor in his hand, heard the rapid breathing as he was tugged along. Wherever they were, Aziraphale was nervous about it. 

“Just need to seal us in— and— there. Alright. You can take off your blindfold now.” There were more grating sounds of heavy rocks moving and then the sounds of birds, running water, the wind in the trees, and before he removed the blindfold, Crowley knew. _How did you pull this off, you bastard?_

Once his sensitive eyes grew accustomed to the warm golden light, he saw the Garden of Eden, just as it was on the day they met. “I thought it was lost forever.” 

“Not lost. Sealed.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

“So how did we get in?” Crowley asked, more than a little impressed. 

“I was the one in charge of sealing the entrance. She banned the humans, but she didn’t say anything about angels. And technically, I’m really returning to my post.” 

“This is why I love you, angel.” Crowley laughed warmly and pulled him to his side. _I fell in love with you in Eden. Right at the start._

“Go ahead and explore. There’s nothing to get in the way now. No missions, no temptations. Just you and I." Aziraphale smiled warmly, this time Crowley noted, it was the angel watching _him_. 

Crowley breathed it in, brushed away a tear as he gazed upon the paradise around him. It was more beautiful than any other garden he could ever create, no matter how hard he tried or how much he threatened his plants. “Thank you, angel.” 

“I thought it would be special to return to the place we met,” Aziraphale said softly, words almost cut off as Crowley nearly picked him up in his embrace. 

“It is! It’s perfect. Are you sure we won’t get caught?” Crowley asked, sudden worry deepening the lines on his brow. 

“Head office has a bit more to worry about these days. Besides, no one’s looking,” Aziraphale replied. 

They walked over grass so lush it cradled their feet near the clearest streams and ponds. There was every sort of sweet fruit, and Crowley managed to find pears for Aziraphale. The angel watched him cut up slices of the fruit with a nervous expression. “Crowley, are you sure we should?” 

“They’re your favorite. Besides, there’s nothing forbidden about pears.” He grinned and held out a slice to the angel who couldn’t resist. 

“How do I know you’re not tempting me like you tempted Eve to eat the apple?” Aziraphale muttered playfully and leaned closer, lips parted sinfully despite his teasing. 

Crowley could feel sweat beading up on his forehead just at the sight of those plump, pink lips, the closed eyes. His hands shook as he offered him the bite, watched the juices run down his chin as his teeth pierced the outer skin and took the first bite of the white flesh. _Everything about him is decadent. Angel, let me devour you_ . _Let me spend hours showing you devotion and worship, drawing out those perfect expressions of pleasure you make when we go to the Ritz._

Aziraphale smiled sweetly, then reached out for another bite. His hand covered Crowley’s on the pear, and as he took the next bite, his lips pressed against the tip of Crowley’s finger, and he sucked the juices gently from it. “Exquisite,” the angel whispered.

Aziraphale closed the distance, climbed into Crowley’s lap and tangled his hand in the copper locks. Aziraphale kissed him, at first slowly and deeply, then more passionately, hands wandering over his back and sides. Crowley moaned into the angel’s mouth when Aziraphale nipped gently at his bottom lip. His hands moved to pull the angel flush against him as he started to kiss and suck faint marks onto the creamy skin of Aziraphale’s neck. The angel tilted his head to grant him more access and closed his eyes. “Perhaps--perhaps we should take a walk under that lovely waterfall,” Aziraphale said breathlessly.

_Are you serious, angel?_ Crowley was flushed from head to toe and entirely disheveled. Panting, he replied, “Yeah, alright.” _I can’t refuse you anything, angel. Even if it means I discorporate._

Grinning, Aziraphale kissed him again sweetly and nuzzled his neck before climbing out of his lap. “Oh, thank you, my dear.”

It was Aziraphale who suggested cheekily that they go for a swim in the clear lagoon, miracling himself out of his clothes and shyly taking Crowley’s trembling hands in his own to lead him into the water. “It’s alright, Crowley. The water’s warm, and the waterfall is no worse than a shower.” 

_You’re so incredibly beautiful._ “I’m not afraid, angel. Just admiring the view.” 

Aziraphale was like a river nymph bathing in a painting, spray cascading over the soft curves of his body. Aziraphale turned to smile at him, faint blush coloring his cheeks, and Crowley was a complete wreck, all unsteady newborn-foal limbs and halting speech. 

“It’s lovely, really,” Aziraphale encouraged. 

Finally, Crowley walked under the spray with him and let the water pound his back, laughing at the feeling. The expression in Aziraphale’s warm blue eyes was so loving that Crowley would have tripped on a rock if Aziraphale hadn’t caught him. The angel’s hands steadied him and brushed wet hair from his face. Then, Aziraphale was sliding soft hands down his arms, winding them around his waist, and tucking his face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling gently, hot breath sending shivers down Crowley’s spine. Closing his eyes, Crowley finally moved to return the embrace, hands moving slowly up his spine to his shoulder blades. At first, he was a bit ashamed of his body's reaction to the closeness and tried to step back. Aziraphale gently held him in place, and he realized they were both in a similar state. 

"Crowley?" The voice was shy, muffled against his neck. 

"Hmmm?" he said simply because he had no idea what to say. 

"Would you like to make love to me? I would very much like to make love to you." His angel looked more vulnerable than he'd ever seen before and slightly scared. _Does he think I could ever hurt him? Never._

There was a long pause in which Crowley could only make a series of barely articulate noises and faint hissing sounds before he answered. "Yesss. I'd like that." _Oh God yes. I've waited 6000 years for this._

A look of intense relief crossed his angel's face. "Well, that's tickety-boo." _So that's what he was afraid of. Not me. Not this. He was actually afraid I might not want him._

Crowley was suddenly struck by a moment of intense panic. "I— I haven't ever. I don't— sorry— I ah— I just didn't get around to—” 

“We can figure this out together. It’s alright. We have all the time in the world.” Aziraphale took him by the hand, leading him to a meadow full of flowers. A quick miracle provided a blanket and pillows under a tree. Crowley sat down on the blanket, offering a hand to Aziraphale who settled down next to him, neither one of them moving or saying anything for a few moments as Aziraphale moved into his arms. Crowley savored the simple act of holding and being held. The angel kissed him, slow and deep and with more passion than he ever thought possible. He pulled the angel closer, hands curling around his back, tracing his spine and the supple curves of his flanks.

Aziraphale squirmed, face flushed a light shade of pink and bit his lip. 

Crowley paused. "What is it angel?"

"N-nothing, just—" he looked away again.

"Let me take care of you?" Crowley whispered in his ear and the angel shuddered, but eventually nodded.

"Please do."

“If you decide you don’t like it or you don’t want to go farther, we can stop anytime. I promise.” 

Gently, Crowley rolled them over until he was straddling Aziraphale's hips. He picked up a rose from the ground and trailed the petals over pink nipples, the round swell of his belly, down to the apex of his thighs and his cock, learning every last reaction, every sigh and gasp his explorations evoked in his partner.

“You're beautiful, Aziraphale," he mumbled as he rested his weight on his arms and started slowly grinding against him.

The feeling was exquisite, so much more than either of them could ever have hoped to experience as they rutted against each other, their bodies slippery from the remains of the water and sweat beading on their flushed skin.

Crowley captured the angel's lips in a deep kiss, daring to tease the other with his wickedly forked tongue as they were bathed in the aroma of wild flowers crushed beneath their writhing forms. _His body was meant for this. Meant for mine._

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and interlaced their fingers as they trailed kisses down each other’s bodies, sweet presses of lips, cheeky nips of teeth and licks leaving moist skin in their wake, leaving it sensitive to the light summer breeze.

Crowley lavished Aziraphale's stomach with attention, delighting in the way the angel moaned his name with every little bite, only growing louder as he dared to dip his long tongue into the angel's belly button. _He likes this even more than coq au vin, more than chocolate. Let me kiss you here— taste you._

Crowley was repaid in kind by the silken touch of Aziraphale's beautifully manicured hands on his chest, his flat stomach, teasing his nipples into hardness and finally, thankfully winding around his straining cock, causing him to moan the angel's name as his back arched off the ground as far as it dared to go. It was only by use of a minor miracle that he managed to keep from losing himself at the first tentative strokes of his Angel's hand. _No wonder humans like this so much._

In the end, it was Crowley who guided Aziraphale’s hand to open him, the chubby fingers working with the same dexterity and care they used on old books. Growing impatient, Crowley used a slight demonic miracle to help things along, and Aziraphale found him slick and wanting. He joined their bodies, sinking down onto Aziraphale's cock, head thrown back in a silent cry, relishing the feeling of being stretched and filled to the brim.

Aziraphale in turn was an absolute wreck, his cheeks now flushed a dark red, the almost white curls tousled as his hands grasped fistfuls of the blanket, then flew up to skim over Crowley's heated skin, as the other began to move at a slow but steady pace.

Crowley’s cock brushed against that wonderful round belly with every thrust, further heightening his pleasure until he felt too weak to stay upright on his own.

"Crowley, I— I— you feel so good. I don't think I can last much… _Oh!"_ Aziraphale shouted as Crowley bent to kiss his neck, changed their position without losing contact, pulling the Angel's upper body up so he rested against the angel's chest, bringing them even closer. Crowley was struggling to hold on as their new position put even more pressure on his already aching cock. One of his hands slithered down, but was swatted away before it could wrap around it, instead being replaced by his angel's soft fingers.

Aziraphale set the rhythm now, moving in careful and yet firm thrusts until Crowley whimpered, so close to finding his release. "Please, Aziraphale." 

Kissing him once more, Aziraphale increased the pace of his thrusts until he found the perfect angle and rhythm to drive the other out of his mind. Crowley reached his peak, his release hot between their bodies, the spasms driving Aziraphale over the edge moments later, fingers digging into Crowley's back as he cried out. Although Aziraphale's cock was softening inside him, Crowley held on, desperate to stay in that moment of perfect union they'd both been waiting for for 6000 years. 

They stayed like that until at last Aziraphale's softening cock slipped free of Crowley's body, hands caressing sensitive skin, carding through already tousled hair, a soft smile on both of their faces.

As they moved to lie next to each other, Crowley pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale's wrist and interlaced their fingers.

The angel rested his head on Crowley’s chest, feeling drowsy and sated, half-lidded eyes gazing adoringly at the other who had an expression of absolute wonder on his face, his red hair blazing around his head like wildfire. 

Suddenly, a frown crossed the demon’s face. “I promised you silken sheets and romance.” 

Aziraphale’s hand was warm on his cheek as his fingertips moved along the sharp cheekbone. “I can’t imagine anything more romantic than the place we first met.” He grinned cheekily. “But it is getting a bit chilly, so it isn’t too late for those silk sheets you mentioned.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and seemingly pulled a tartan sheet from thin air. “Done, angel.” _Anything. Everything. I’ll always give you whatever you want._

With a tired smile, he wrapped them both in the sheets, and they rested on the garden floor, cocooned against the outside world. They couldn’t stay in Eden forever, but Aziraphale assured _him, there was always the chance of coming back. After they dressed, they replaced the stones together, ready to return home, but first, lunch at the Ritz._

The two men sat at one of the best tables, closer than they had ever dared before. Aziraphale looked more relaxed than Crowley had seen him in centuries, and the flush of pink in his cheeks and giddy smile made the angel look all the more beautiful to him. 

“And then, I told the young college student that Lederhosen are technically only worn in Bavaria outside of Oktoberfest, and I don’t think he appreciated it.”

“No, I don’t think he did,” Crowley laughed, leaning back in his chair, feeling altogether wonderful. “But, for the record, you did look good wearing them. Did wonders for your legs.” 

“Too bad I couldn’t get you to try them,” Aziraphale teased. 

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in those,” Crowley replied, swirling the last of the wine in his glass then finishing it in one go. “Where to now, angel? My flat? Back to the bookshop?” 

Aziraphale finished off the last bit of the pastry he had been devouring then smiled and sighed contentedly. “The bookshop would be lovely.” 

Aziraphale claimed the check before Crowley could and they made their way to the Bentley, Crowley holding the door for him and smiling fondly at the angel. At the bookshop, Crowley was disappointed for a moment as Aziraphale suddenly bolted into the shop without so much as waiting for him at the door. In a moment, though, the angel was back with a huge grin, beckoning him to come in. 

"You'll never guess what arrived today!" The angel said, kissing Crowley’s cheek. "Our mirror. I already hung it up in the back." 

Crowley's expression turned sour. "In the back? I thought you liked it." 

"I love it. I put it there because that is the part of the shop where we've spent the most time together. The part that’s only for us. Thank you, Crowley."

Aziraphale kissed him, slowly, deeply, and lovingly, and Crowley's doubts disappeared. The open sign discreetly flipped itself to closed. 

"Did you jussst— " Crowley trailed off, feeling himself enfolded in Aziraphale's soft 

embrace. "I should very much like to spend the afternoon in, well, another way. I've been cold to you before and unkind. Let me do something to make up for it," Aziraphale whispered in his ear, nipping softly at his earlobe. 

Crowley’s voice rose two octaves. "Ah… what did you have in mind?" 

"I thought I might show you how much I love you, how beautiful you are." Aziraphale guides him to stand in front of the mirror, kissing every sensitive spot on his jaw and neck. When the angel asked, "May I?" before slipping off his jacket, he could only nod, forcing himself not to turn into a serpent on the spot. _How are his hands so bloody warm. Does he do that just for me?_

"Look at this face. Divine. These cheekbones. These eyes." Aziraphale kissed his closed eyelids softly, drawing a gasp from Crowley. "Would you look at me? Let me see those beautiful eyes. It’s like looking at a sunset." 

Crowley opened his eyes, already feeling them growing misty at the words of praise. _What are you doing to me, angel?_

"Not the eyes of evil? The damned?" Crowley asked as the angel's hands massaged the tension from his neck. 

"No. The eyes of the man I find most enchanting. The one I love." Aziraphale's fingers tugged at the hem of the fitted shirt, and he glanced up asking permission. 

"I love you too, angel." Crowley smiled and moved to make it easier for Aziraphale to undress him.

Aziraphale's hands slipped under his shirt and peeled it off almost reverently. Then he smiled and moved to stand behind him as he caressed his shoulders and back. "You have the body of Adonis." One of the angel's hands were trailing across his chest, making him arch his back as it toyed with his nipples. "Oh, god--.Aziraphale!" 

“I'm not done with you yet.” Grinning, the angel bent his head to wrap his lips around the rosy bud, teasing at it with a flick of his tongue. "Look at you. So divinely beautiful and already so hard and wanting.” The angel stared at their reflections with a wicked grin, one hand slipping over Crowley's stomach to palm the front of his trousers. After a few moments, the angel’s hand traced his cock through the fabric. 

"Angel..." Crowley whined now, not caring how he looked or sounded as long as the feeling didn’t stop. 

"Hmmm, I think there are too many clothes in the way. What do you think?" Aziraphale held up a hand, prepared to snap his fingers and make their clothes disappear. 

"Ngk— yeah— alright. Yes. Please, angel… more than alright. Definitely!" 

"Well, then." With a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, both of their remaining clothes ended up folded neatly on a chair in the corner. 

"That's better. I need to finish adoring you." Aziraphale curled a deliciously warm hand around him and began to stroke, but stopped to Crowley's utter frustration and instead turned him so they faced sideways and slid his hands over the firm mounds of his backside, kneading slowly. "This is utter perfection. Just look at you." 

Crowley's hands found Aziraphale's stomach, watching the soft flesh jiggle under his hands in the mirror. "Just look at _you_ , angel." 

Aziraphale groaned and arched against him with a grin. “This is supposed to be about you. Poor Crowley. I've left you in rather an uncomfortable state. Shall I take care of that?" _Please hurry before I discorporate._

Giving his bottom one last pat, the angel got on his knees and kissed a trail down his stomach to nip at his hip bones. _When did you learn how to tease like this? Still...an angel kneeling at a demon's feet. Is that blasphemy?_

The angel wrapped his lips around the tip of his already leaking cock, taking him to the hilt in moments and causing Crowley nearly to lose his balance. Watching the angel pleasuring him in the mirror only aroused him further. He was close to spending himself right there and carded his hands through the Angel's rather disheveled curls softly. "No good? You didn't like it?" 

"Angel, no— I— I do, but I'm close. I can't hold on for more if you keep going like this. Tell me what you want. Anything." Crowley pulled him up and kissed him. 

"Make me yours this time. I want you to have me entirely." _He… he trusts me. I promise to make this good for you, angel._

Aziraphale held out his hand and led him to the bed where Aziraphale reclined like a Greek God and beckoned him closer. "I'm all yours." Crowley rested his weight on top of Aziraphale carefully, trailed kisses down his neck, tongue darting out to lathe at his clavicle. His lips latched onto first one and then the other nipple, tongue dancing over the sensitive spots, causing the angel to arch off the bed. 

He kissed down Aziraphale's belly, covering every inch of the soft skin with kisses, the sounds of the angel moaning softly better than any celestial music. His fingers closed around the soft skin of Aziraphale's thick cock and stroked him then moved downwards, one long finger circling his entrance, cautious of causing even a single moment of discomfort. With a small miracle, Crowley's hand was slick as he pressed a finger just inside, watching the Angel's face. Slowly he moved deeper, seeking the center of his pleasure and stroking it, adding a second finger, slowly stretching him. Aziraphale coming undone at his hand was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Crowley, beloved. Please, get on with it," Aziraphale gasped. Crowley slowly crawled back to kiss him one more time as he lined himself up with Aziraphale's entrance, looked deeply into his eyes, and slowly pushed inside. 

The feeling of Aziraphale hot and tight around him was almost enough for him to lose himself before the first thrust. "Angel… you feel so good. Are you alright?" Bending his head he kissed his brow. 

"Yes, darling, but if you don't start to move, I think I might discorporate. You could never hurt me." Aziraphale wound a hand into his hair. 

Crowley moved, slowly and cautiously at first until Aziraphale locked his legs around Crowley's hips, drawing him closer and deeper. He moved faster, a hand reaching down to stroke Aziraphale in time with his thrusts. "Angel, I can't hold on much longer," Crowley groaned.

"Afraid I won't be able to either. Oh! Don't stop!" 

Aziraphale cried out and shivered, his body going tense and then limp. The sound of his name on his lover's lips and the spasms of his body were enough for him to find his own release in a few more thrusts. 

Crowley had raised an eyebrow and they both laughed heartily as they tangled their limbs after and the angel proclaimed their lovemaking was just tickety boo. 

After a while, Crowley presented Aziraphale with a golden-wrapped box. The angel carefully unfolded the paper, setting the untorn wrapping paper aside after nearly folding it. Crowley, on the other hand, had a tendency to send bits of paper flying in all directions, utterly shredding the paper. 

Opening the box, Aziraphale gave a delighted squeal seeing the delicate pendant of Murano glass nestled in a square of tartan silk. "Oh! You got it, after all!” Aziraphale kissed him passionately.

"Now, you'll always have your wily serpent with you. Shall I help you put it on?" 

Aziraphale nodded and let himself be guided to stand in front of the ornate Venetian mirror in the back of the bookshop. Crowley carefully undid the clasp then placed the pendant around the angel's neck, unable to resist leaning in and placing a soft kiss on the side of his jaw, both of them framed perfectly in the mirror, looking almost like an oil painting. 

They fell asleep, Crowley wrapped completely around Aziraphale. In the morning, the demon rose early, stretched, and tiptoed towards the kitchen, thinking to bring Aziraphale breakfast in bed. He never reached the kitchen, and instead tripped over Aziraphale’s suitcase in the dim light and ended up yelling, “Shit!” 

His shouting woke Aziraphale who got out of bed and bent down to help Crowley up. “Are you alright, dear boy, what happened?” 

“I tripped over your bloody suitcase,” Crowley said, brushing himself off and snapping his fingers to miracle it somewhere else. 

“Well, it seems to me we were rather in a hurry last night,” Aziraphale replied with a distinctly coy look. 

“Ngk, yeah, ah, we were,” Crowley choked out, flushing from head to toe. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
